


confessions / xo, or something

by vl_kyrie



Series: Jetko Renaissance Week [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Jetko Week, M/M, Silly, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vl_kyrie/pseuds/vl_kyrie
Summary: Jetko Renaissance Week 2020 - Day 1, Confessions" It’s written on lined notebook paper. The edges are still rough where it’s obvious they’ve been torn from a spiral-back. Heavy, messy handwriting fills the lines. At the bottom, a signature, wrapped in two halves of a lopsided heart: More than words, XO, or something. "(It's Valentine's day. Zuko is awkward. Jet causes problems. You know the drill.)
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Jetko Renaissance Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976929
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42
Collections: Jetko Renaissance Week





	confessions / xo, or something

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yall, fair warning, I am in no way any sort of writer, much less when it comes to fanfiction, much less when it's atla, but. I feel very strongly about jetko and felt i needed to post something either way. Mind the cringe, and enjoy what you can, lol.

It’s written on lined notebook paper. The edges are still rough where it’s obvious they’ve been torn from a spiral-back. Heavy, messy handwriting fills the lines. At the bottom, a signature, wrapped in two halves of a lopsided heart: More than words, XO, or something.

...

Zuko slams a hand on the locker above his head. Jet, to his credit, does not startle. He simply raises an (absolutely ridiculous, horribly coiffed) eyebrow, gives him a look. 

“Is it you?” Zuko demands.

“‘S what me?” Jet says. Perfectly placid. Moving that stupid paper stick around in his mouth. Zuko wants to smack it out of his mouth. He opened that lollipop (very loudly) hours ago in their shared physics class; surely the stick is all gross and soggy by now? He must be doing it on purpose just to be annoying and gross. To be fair, Zuko’s pretty sure that’s why Jet does most things. 

“Don’t give me that! I’m sure you know exactly what,” Zuko says.

“And, pray tell, exactly what am I supposed to know?”

“Ugh! ...Nevermind,” Zuko grinds out. He turns sharp on his heel. The rubber of his soles squeals on the tile. He doesn’t miss Jet tilt his head forward though, bangs falling in his eyes a bit. 

“Why, what’s got you so pressed, Zooks?” When Zuko whirls his head around again, Jet is still leaning against the wall of lockers with his arms crossed over his body. He’s got an air about him, and his eyes flick up to lock on Zuko’s. 

Zuko bristles. “I told you to stop fucking calling me that!” Now Zuko’s got his arms crossed in indignation, and he huffs down his face at Jet. “None of your business anyways, I think. Leave me alone, I have things to do.” Zuko storms away, fast as he got there. 

Jet calls out after him, “But you’re the one who came up to me?” 

…

“Woah, what’s got you so worked up?” Sokka says as Zuko takes his regular place to his left side. They’re sitting in a corner in the underground floor hallway. It’s coolest there in the school, the heat rises up. Zuko just snorts in derision, but it’s half-growly. Sokka rolls his eyes. “Sorry, guess it’s easier to ask what hasn’t pissed you off today.” 

“It’s not my fault that everyone at this school is an idiot!” 

“Except for me--”

“No, especially you. I swear to god, sometimes.” Zuko twists the cap off a bottled iced tea with more rage than should be possible, for tea. Figures. Leave it to him to set new records for that kind of thing. Sokka waits a beat of silence. Purses his lips. Gives Zuko a look. Zuko ignores him on purpose. Doesn’t work, anyways, cause Sokka says, “...so?”

“Sew buttons in your underwear,” Zuko mumbles.

“What?”

“Nevermind. What, Sokka.” 

Sokka props his head on one hand. “Seriously. You’re not still upset over the thing from this morning?” 

Zuko frowns. Well, frowns more. “Not upset. It’s just. Stupid. Still pissing me off. I guess.”

“But why, dude? It was only nice things. You should be flattered. I know I would be. Besides,” Sokka says, turning his scrutiny on the umpteenth bag of chips he’s pulled from his bag and offering Zuko a handful automatically, which he takes. “It’s Valentine’s day. People are gonna do stuff like that. They put something in the water. Makes ‘em braver.” 

“Yeah, well. It’s not ‘nice.’ I don’t know how you could think that. People don’t do things like that to me to be ‘nice,’ they do it to make a point.” Zuko shoves his handful of grease in his mouth. “And you’d take it as a compliment if a stray dog mistook you for a fire hydrant.” 

“HEY!” 

“It’s true. Nobody really wants to ask out the guy with the fucked-up face. It’s a joke, to them.” Zuko reaches for another chip and Sokka bats him away. 

“No, man, the last thing you said! Rude!” Sokka says. 

“I don’t recall,” Zuko deadpans. Sokka huffs. Hands over the bag without looking at him. Zuko hums his appreciation. 

“You’re lucky you’re my best friend, or I’d’ve thrown you off the roof a long time ago,” Sokka says. 

“You wouldn’t be the first to want to do that,” Zuko says. 

“Man, talking to you is always such a bummer.” Sokka scratches his chin. “You should show Aang the letter. You two have music together, yeah?” When Zuko nods, he continues, “Aang’s always getting stuff like that. Seriously. I know this is only your first year here after transferring, but every fall, like clockwork, the new freshman girls come in waves to hand out love confessions to the nice music boy with tattoos who helps them with their theory homework. It’s insane. He’ll probably help you figure out who.”

“Aang’s tattoos aren’t even the bad-boy kind, though.” 

“You think these 14-year-olds care? Besides, that was definitely not the point of what I said. Aang knows everyone. It’s his special talent. He’ll just look at the handwriting and say, ‘oh, yeah, that’s the girl who sits in front of me in math. Nice chick. Face’s only a 6/10, though.’”

Zuko scrunches up his nose. “Aang wouldn’t say that.” 

“I dunno, he might. I can picture it,” says Sokka. 

Zuko waves his hand at him. “I’m sure you can. Anyways. I don’t want to bother him. He’s busy enough as it is.” 

“Why are you so resistant to this? Really, it’ll take two seconds to show him the stupid letter,” Sokka says. “What, are you embarrassed?”

Zuko snaps his teeth in Sokka’s direction. “That’s NOT it!”

Sokka raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Wow, jeez. I am sure it isn’t, Zuko.” Sarcasm drips from his voice, and Zuko sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose to ward off an oncoming headache.

“...Sorry. I just don’t want a whole bunch of people knowing all my business. Especially when it’s something personal like this.”

Sokka sighs. “Aang’s not ‘a whole bunch of people.’ He’s your friend, and if this is, apparently, that deeply distressing, then you should talk to him. He will listen, and you will feel better. It’s not that deep, man. You don’t even have to show him the letter. Just throw it out if it’s that bad.”

“I don’t even know why I’m still hanging onto it,” Zuko says. 

“Mmh,” Sokka says. 

And that’s the end of their conversation for the rest of the lunch period, at least until they both stand to leave and Zuko says offhandedly, “Is it you?” Sokka just says, “Ha, you wish, buddy.”

…

Wish indeed. Zuko’s a pace away from the music room at the end of the hall, and Jet chooses that moment to appear out of nowhere (okay, maybe he doesn’t choose, Zuko’s pretty sure he’s not that special that Jet needs to plan his day around crossing their paths, but he wouldn’t put it past him) (okay okay, not nowhere, Jet very clearly came out of the boys’ washroom across the hall, which would ordinarily mean nothing except Zuko’s never seen him come down here, aren’t most of Jet’s classes on the upper floors? Maybe he is doing it on purpose) and fix a big shit-eating grin on Zuko, who makes a point of ignoring Jet in favour of this suddenly very interesting painted brick wall, wow such workmanship who paved this--

“Hey, Zu-ko,” Jet says. His tongue cracks the ‘k’ like it’s something filthy, and maybe it is, because now Zuko keeps playing it in his head, over and over, the way Jet says it. Stop, he chides himself internally. Don’t let him bother you again, his brain says. It’s Jet’s favourite hobby, bothering him. It must be. He makes a game out of it, like he’s trying to see exactly what it is this time that’ll make Zuko crack, because he always gets this same look on his face right when Zuko snaps at him to shut the fuck up and leave me alone. Like a kid on Christmas. It’s his own fault, in a way, because he’s the only one Jet ever does this to. Knows he’ll always be the one to give him what he wants. Oh, jeez, don’t phrase it like that, now it really does sound dirty, I don’t--

“Hey,” Jet says again, and Zuko looks up at him only because it sounded so much softer than usual, and when he meets Jet’s gaze it’s his whole face that’s a little gentler too, and it startles Zuko a bit. He looks almost… well, something, something that’s not usually on his face. Zuko realizes he’s been silent for a while now, but he can’t come up with anything polite to say.

“Did it really bother you that much?” Jet asks, and okay, now Zuko’s just confused. He’s got to be kidding, right? Did what bother him? All Jet’s been doing for months is bothering him, on purpose. There’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Zuko stares blankly.

Jet continues, saying, “It’s that bad?” He almost looks troubled at that. “I-” he stops, sighs, runs a hand through his already messy hair, “I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal, you know. I thought you already kind of figured.” Mumbles to himself, “....she told me it was a good idea.” 

Okay, if he was confused before, now Zuko is positively bewildered. What on earth is he talking about? Did someone put him up to this or something? Is that what this has all been about? That seems like a ridiculous kind of long game to play. 

“What are you saying?” Zuko finally asks. Jet gives him a look. A pause. Then, a familiar wolfish smile. All teeth. Bit of glitter in his eyes. It makes Zuko shiver a bit, for reasons he cannot quite explain. 

“Or maybe,” Jet says, closing the gap between them, putting a hand on the wall above Zuko’s head in a mimicry of their pose this morning. Jet’s face is an inch away from Zuko’s, and suddenly Zuko is frozen, something inside of his chest turned to jelly, as Jet leans in close to mutter next to Zuko’s ear, “Maybe you just weren’t used to hearing that kind of thing. Think I’ll have to teach you what to do?” 

Zuko’s sure he’s as red as a tomato, and he couldn’t respond if he tried, but it seems like that’s fine, because Jet just pulls back and looks at him for a second, then laughs a bit in his throat. Zuko looks to the side, down, anything that’s not Jet and thinking what the hell was that and why do I want him to do it again? 

Zuko’s still not looking at him when Jet when they both make to leave, but Jet is playful sounding when he says, “Don’t worry, I can be gentle.” Then he’s gone, and maybe he’s taken something of Zuko with him, because Zuko can’t stop this feeling that bubbles up in him and threatens to spill out. It’s weird. It’s overwhelming. It’s kind of nice, he thinks.

...

Okay, technically, Aang and Zuko don’t have music together. Zuko’s in the orchestra, and Aang does… something. Everything. Actually, Zuko’s pretty sure there isn’t an instrument he hasn’t seen Aang play at some point or another, but regardless. Aang isn’t in his class or anything; he just tends to be doing something or other in the lower music room every day around the same time as Zuko’s in to practice during his free period, so. They’re pseudo-classmates. Works for him. 

Zuko’s already taken out and tuned his (borrowed, but still) cello, but he’s a little antsy to talk to Aang, especially after what happened between classes, so when he peers out of the corner of his eye and sees Aang hunched over one of the old pianos in the corner of the room, looking puzzled, Zuko stands with a sigh and leaves his seat in the little practice room. 

Zuko peeks over Aang’s sheets of paper that form a wall against the top of the piano. “Having issues?” he says.

Aang brightens instantly. “Zuko! There you are! Sorry, guess I was too distracted to hear you come in.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Zuko says. “ ...What’re you working on?”

Aang deflates, scrubbing a hand dejectedly over his face. “Urgh. I’m supposed to be working on my own composition, it’s a summative assignment, but I’m- I can’t figure out how to fix it.” He gestures at the piles of paper. Zuko picks up a stack and rifles through it. It looks like a lot of copies of the same song, scribbled in the lines by hand with little arrows pointing to things that need to be changed, comments in the margins addressed to Aang by himself. Zuko flips back to the topmost copy. Runs through it in his head. 

“Seems fine to me,” he offers, handing the papers back to Aang. Aang takes them with a pout. 

“That’s the problem! Just ‘fine.’ It’s gotta be better than that, gotta be bigger than that! It needs that energy. I can’t just hand it off like this -- I know I can do better, I just haven’t figured out… where.” 

Unfortunately, Zuko can’t offer much in the way of help. In technical terms, he’s pretty good, he will admit, but that’s just it: technical. He’s never been good at coming up with his own melodies, much less ones with the kind of ‘energy’ Aang’s wanting. Zuko’s strength lies in his mechanical precision and steady fingers. He’s sure Aang already knows this, though. Sometimes Aang just likes to talk out loud and bounce his problems off everyone’s head. Helps him think it through to do that. 

Though, speaking of problems...

Zuko pulls the letter out of his jacket pocket. It’s a little crinkled around the edges where he’s been holding it in a vice grip. 

“Look,” he says to Aang. Aang takes it, flits his eyes over it. He cocks his head to the side.

“Wow, Zuko, I didn’t know you felt this way about me. I’m flattered, but you know I’m already going out with Ka-”

Zuko snatches it back from his hands. “Oh, very funny. Someone put it in my locker this morning. I didn’t see who.” It was locked, but they must’ve slipped it through the crack at the top. It startled Zuko a little bit when he opened the door and it fell out into his face. Maybe that’s a metaphor for something; Zuko wouldn’t know. 

Aang nods seriously. “Anyone you think it might be, then? Who do you want it to be?” he says.

Zuko frowns. “What? That’s not how it works. I don’t want it to be anybody,” he says, even as his mind conjures up instantly the image of him, smirking, taunting him, saying his name like a- like something dirty, for god’s sake. That would probably be too much to handle. Besides, it can’t be. He’s already as much as confirmed it isn’t. Shame, a little voice says in the back of his head. Shut up, he says back to it, louder.

“I’m just saying. If there’s someone you’ve, I don’t know, got your eye on, maybe there’s a chance they know, and feel the same way. That’s why they wrote this for you,” Aang says. 

“That seems highly unlikely. Especially because it’s very clearly a joke,” Zuko says. 

“A joke? Why would it be?”

Zuko looks at him. “Unlike you, I’m not the kind of person that regularly gets adoring letters from admiring fangirls.”

“Who says it’s a girl?” Aang says in response, completely missing the point again. 

“What?! That makes even less sense! What would make you think that?” Zuko squawks.

Aang levels a look at him. “You’re not actually that good at keeping it a secret, Zuko,” is what he says, and then when Zuko splutters, “Besides, you can tell from the handwriting.” 

“No, you can’t! That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yeah, you kind of can.” 

Anyway. Not much cello practice gets done that day. 

...

Aang ended up leaving early to walk with Katara to her next class. Which is funny, because Aang’s next class is all the way on the opposite end of the school, but you know how he gets. Especially on a day like today; Zuko’s sure the two of them have some sort of romantic activity or other planned for the minute the school day ends. Good for them, he thinks. He’s not jealous of them. Not in the slightest! 

Well. Okay. Just a bit. A tad. Miniscule, really, his investment in the situation. 

It’s-- you know. It’s not their fault that Zuko’s never been the type to make friends easily. They can’t help that it’s always him that inevitably gets pushed off to the side at times like these, when it’s always Katara and Aang pairing off to do something he’s sure is very sweet and romantic, and Sokka and Suki, not quite dating yet but anyone with eyes can see how they dance around each other, usually doing something also not-quite-a-date but still very intimate in its own right. 

Zuko used to have friends he’d spend these times with, back at his old private school, but. Things change. He hasn’t seen any of them at all in the half year since switching, but maybe it’s for the best. Can’t imagine any of them would be particularly pleased to see him anyways. 

Maybe it’s unfair, but Zuko can’t help but be angry sometimes at the people it comes easy to. Like Jet. (Zuko squares his jaw.) The damn guy’s always hanging out in a group of rowdy kids just like him, usually laughing too loud and taking up too much space. Usually happy. Jet’s a people person - he’s good at it, controlling the tension, saying the right things to get you on his side. On the reverse, he’s also good at pushing your buttons, finding what gets you to tick. He doesn’t generally need to turn to that, though, because he fits in everywhere he goes. The kids he hangs out with love him. He’s like their alpha, their leader, in a way. Which makes Zuko angry again with how much it makes sense. Jet loves to command, to be in control. He’s always trying to get the high ground in any conversation, and if he’s being nice you’ll leave feeling good about yourself. If he’s feeling belligerent, though, any talk will turn into a pissing contest, like it usually does when Zuko has to hold more than small talk with him. 

Honestly, if Jet wasn’t so damn hard to get along with in the first place, Zuko’d have half a mind to ask for pointers. Ah. Maybe that’s what Jet meant, earlier, when he’d offered to… teach Zuko? That seems like a weird way of phrasing it, though. 

Speak of the devil, though, because Jet’s there again, in the parking lot. He’s… sitting on the hood of a silver car. Zuko’s car. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding. Jet’s got another stupid stick hanging out of his mouth. Zuko storms over, hands clutching the keys in his pocket so tightly he’s going to have indents in his fingertips after. Opens his mouth to say something, once he’s in front of Jet, but Jet beats him to it, popping his lollipop out of his mouth to gesture with it. He’s replaced it from before. It’s heart-shaped. 

“Zuko. Look. I’m- you don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to feel the same way. I don’t expect you to. But I need to be really, really clear about what it is I’m trying to tell you, so I can figure out if I need to just leave you alone and start to get over myself,” Jet says in a burst. He stops to look at Zuko, probably waiting for some sort of acknowledgement that he’s listening, but Zuko can’t give him anything much more eloquent than, “Huh?”

Jet sighs. Runs his free hand up the back of his neck to thread his fingers in the little strands that end there. Zuko’s surprised to note that Jet’s cheeks are dusted rosy, and Jet doesn’t meet his gaze fully when he speaks again. 

“I-Zuko. I-I have feelings for you. Real ones, I think. And I’m-I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not used to that, and so, I’m still a little unsure of how to go about this, but I-I wanted you to know, because I thought you deserved to. To know the truth, about how I feel about you.”

Jet trails off. Neither of them say anything for a long moment. Jet shifts his weight on his legs, keeping his eyes down, but they flicker back up to Zuko when Zuko finally says, “So it was you.”

“...Yeah.”

Zuko closes his eyes. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “This isn’t funny, Jet.”

Now it’s Jet’s turn to be confused. “I’m not trying to be,” he says.

Zuko’s insides churn a bit, then. “I don’t want your fucking pity.” 

Jet furrows his brows. “What are you talking about?”

“What I mean is, I know damn well exactly what you and everyone else thinks of me. I don’t- I don’t want you to sit here and tell me you’re the one who wrote me that fucking love letter. It’s not funny, to me. I’ve been asked out so many times as a practical joke just because the idea of someone actually being interested in me is that goddamn hilarious.” Zuko drags a hand across his eyes, squeezing them tighter against the (embarrassingly enough) rising burn behind them. “So I don’t want to hear it from you, too. Don’t you think you mess with me enough?”

Jet nearly gapes. “You’re fucking forreal? You think this is a- a joke?” When Zuko gives him a heated look, he goes on, “Really, Zuko, I’ve never been more fucking serious in my life. You think I’m- comin’ out here and baring my insides to you just for shits and giggles? I mean it. You--” Jet’s voice wavers, quiets a bit. “I’ve never liked someone before, the way I like you.”

Zuko’s voice is small when he asks, “Why? What could you possibly want in me? You hate me.”

Jet swells forward to clutch Zuko’s arms with both his hands; his heart-shaped lollipop drops to the dirt, forgotten. “God, everything. Don’t you get it? I don’t hate you. Couldn’t if I tried. You and I, we’re- we’re the same. You get things in the way that nobody else does. You know what it’s like, to have to fight and claw your way for anything. You’re the only one who can keep up with me. Match my fire with yours. You’ve got an energy. If you think for a second that I’m making this up, you couldn’t be more wrong. You’re something so special that I can’t even put into words.” Jet’s almost frantic now when he says it. His eyes search Zuko’s face for a response. “Please, you don’t- you don’t have to feel the same way, you don’t have to do anything. Just-- believe me, because I’m telling the truth. And if you hate me for saying this, then just- give me the word, and I’ll never bother you again.” 

Zuko flits his gaze up to fix on Jet’s. There’s something so open and vulnerable, there. It’s nothing like the Jet he’s used to seeing, full of fire and bite and trying so hard all the time to be in control of every situation. It’s something real. 

Zuko swallows. “Before, you said you could teach me. So. Show me. Show me how much you mean it. Gently,” he says. 

Jet smiles then, really smiles. He looks happy. So relieved. Jet’s hands move from Zuko’s forearms to cradle the sides of his face. They’re warm. Jet leans in, slow, and Zuko pushes forward to close the gap.

He tastes sweet. Lollipop-sugar. 

“That gentle enough for you?” Jet asks. His voice is whisper-soft now. 

Zuko peers up at Jet through his eyelashes. “Show me again.”

So he does. It’s just as sweet the second time.

…

I am just going to come right out and say it: I like you. A lot. More than I should, all things considered. But you make it easy to feel that way. Wanting you comes as natural as breathing to me. 

One letter can’t hold well enough all the things I could say about you, or the way you make me feel. So I won’t even try to fit it all. Because what it comes down to is, you’re more myself than I am. Whatever people are made of, you and I are the same. 

I don’t tell you this because I want you to come running to me like in a movie. Even if that’d be sweet. I’m telling you this because it’s the truth, and more than that, it’s something that’s important for you to hear. You deserve to hear every nice thought I have about you. But if I can’t give you that, maybe I can give you this, at least. 

You don’t have to feel the same. Just you having this letter in the first place is enough for me. 

Besides, who doesn't love a little romance on Valentine's day? 

  
More than words, XO, or something.

**Author's Note:**

> i know nothing about music beyond the one (1) class i took in grade 9 and it shows. Sorry. I played the saxophone btw.


End file.
